


closest to heaven

by Yellow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: But dean figures himself out a little along the way, Episode Fix-it, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed, sometimes you're repressed as fuck and have to roadtrip through your feelings, vampires and mild peril
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27811306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yellow/pseuds/Yellow
Summary: “Cas? Is that you?”“It’s me,” he says.“Tell me something only Cas would know,” Dean says, feeling ridiculous, feeling unhinged. He glances over his shoulder. No one is here but him. The lights in the bunker hum softly.“I told you I love you.”// Cas comes back from the Empty and he and Dean have some things to talk about, as much as Dean would like to ignore them forever. Post 15x19 fic that ignores 15x20.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, mentioned Sam/Eileen - Relationship
Comments: 20
Kudos: 467





	closest to heaven

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you are a lapsed fan that writes 8.5k of destiel years after you stopped watching out of sheer spite and gay energy. they deserved better! so here i am, ignoring the fuck out of 15x20. yes the title IS from iris by the goo goo dolls i am dying.
> 
> huge thanks to my friend beth for helping me brainstorm how to get these idiots to touch each other

After they kill God, Dean keeps praying. 

He supposes Jack is listening, but he’s busy, from the sound of it. And whatever angels are left might be stripped of their power, unable to hear him. He’s pretty sure the one he's praying to can’t. But he prays anyway, because Sam took all the alcohol out of the house after four days of Dean showing up to breakfast still smashed from the night before, and his hands are bruised black from hitting the punching bag over and over, so. He's out of other options. 

He will never not feel ridiculous, kneeling with his hands clasped, but that’s all he knows how to do. “Cas. I just want you back. Just tell me what to do. I just want you back.”

But in the end, Cas comes home not with a prayer but with a phone call. The caller ID says nothing but St. Louis and Dean picks up anyway, heart in his throat, like he’d picked up seven spam calls in the last three days. 

There’s shuffling on the other end.

“Dean.”

Dean holds his phone so tight he’s afraid he’ll crack the plastic case.

“Cas? Is that you?”

“It’s me,” he says.

“Tell me something only Cas would know,” Dean says, feeling ridiculous, feeling unhinged. He glances over his shoulder. No one is here but him. The lights in the bunker hum softly.

“I told you I love you.”

Dean swallows. 

“Yeah. Okay,” he says. He doesn’t know why he expected something different, like,  _ I worked at a gas station and broke the slushie machine,  _ or  _ I love PB&J.  _ “Where are you?”

He'd begged fifty cents off of an old lady and remembered how to use a payphone. Dean tells him to stay exactly where he is and writes the shortest possible note to Sam before he hops in the Impala and pulls out of the bunker, tires squealing. 

The sun is just setting when he makes it to the gas station on the edge of the city. He’d managed the eight hour drive in just six and a half, going 90 on the long stretches of I70 in rural Kansas and Missouri and hoping that he wouldn’t get caught. He attributes his making it without getting a ticket half to rural highways and half to Jack looking out for him. He’s not sure if the new God plays favorites, but he sure as hell hopes He does. 

Cas is sitting on a bench near the gas station, looking down at his hands. He has the same trenchcoat, same tie. Doesn’t look like a hair’s out of place.

Dean throws the car into park. He jumps out of his seat, tearing his seatbelt off.

It hurts, the way Cas’s face lights up when he sees Dean. Dean walks over to him in a few giant steps and hugs him tight before he can think about it. Maybe this will be it. Maybe this will be the last time he has to find Cas at some gas station in the middle of nowhere and take him home.

Dean pulls back, but he leaves a hand on Cas’s shoulder. Cas glances at it, then looks Dean in the eye. Dean scans him for injuries.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” Cas says. “What happened?”

Dean looks at him, stern.

“You sure you’re not hurt? No more deals? How did you get out?”

“Jack,” he says, and smiles, slight. “I take it some things have changed since I was away.”

Dean sighs, more relieved than he even expected to be.

“Yeah. Uh, short version is that Jack is God, Chuck is human, and Sam and I are okay. And now so are you.”

Cas is doing that thing where his eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles a real, genuine smile, and Dean has to look away. He starts walking back to the Impala. 

“Have you eaten?”

They end up in a diner twenty minutes back towards Lebanon. Dean’s driven all day, and Cas looks exhausted, sinking into the Impala’s seats as soon as they get back on the highway. Dean figures some food’ll do him good even if he doesn’t need it. 

Cas tears into the cheeseburger with the gusto of a man who never thought he would eat one again, which. Dean thinks that’s fair. 

Dean is starving too, all of a sudden. He barely stopped on his way to St. Louis. He eats his fries three at a time and orders a second meal for them both, with dessert for good measure. He’s happy. Cas gets a brownie with mediocre, melting ice cream and eats it so fast he gets brain freeze. Dean relishes every bite of his diner cherry pie.

They stop pretty soon after that for the night. They could make it back to Lebanon, and Dean’s driven longer days, but when he suggests a warm bed Cas looks so happy that he pulls into the nearest motel with a VACANT sign. 

He didn’t pack anything on the way in, so he just throws his keys on the bedside table, shucks off his jacket, and collapses on the bed.

Cas enters slower, looming in the doorway. He closes the door, slowly, and the glare of the streetlight behind him disappears, plunging the room into low light. Dean closes his eyes.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

“Talk about what.” 

“Dean.” Dean sits up and swings his legs off the side of the bed, stomach churning.

“Can’t I just be happy you’re back, for once, without shit hanging over us?”

“I just,” Cas says. “I need to know for sure.”

“I’m not gay, okay?” 

He looks down at his feet. It’s not the shittiest motel he’s ever been in, but he still can see at least three dark stains on the maroon carpet. 

“I don’t see what that has to do with things,” Cas says, finally.

Dean snaps his head up, mocking smile firmly in place.

“Come on, Cas, I know you’re new to the human stuff, but I thought you were smarter than that.”

Castiel glares at him.

“I know you’re trying to get me to stop talking, and it won’t work.”

“So tell me why me being gay doesn’t matter?”

“I’m-angels aren’t male or female.” Castiel tugs at his tie. “I’ve grown to like this vessel, but I have no particular affinity for the male gender.”

“That’s-that doesn’t matter,” Dean says, mouth dry. “You still-you have a dick. You still-no one knows you’re an angel. You’re just a dude.”

“But you know,” Cas says, stepping closer. Dean feels panic rising, the muscles in his back tensing. Cas seems to notice and stops, one hand outstretched like Dean is a scared dog. He’s not scared. He doesn’t need to be coddled. “You know,” Cas repeats. “And you haven’t told me you-you don’t love me yet.” The words stumble awkwardly out of his mouth.

“That’s all it takes for you to shut up about this?” That’s mean, and he sees the hurt flash across Cas’s face for a moment, but all Dean knows how to do when he’s scared is take everyone else down with him. He doesn’t care that Cas knows it, he just knows that it’ll work, for now, and he’s flailing, stomach dropping, maroon carpet falling out from under his feet.

“I don’t love you,” Dean says, and the word love leaves his mouth in a horrible strangled noise.

Cas stares at him, then says, “That’s what I thought.”

He walks out the door, leaving it open. Dean sits on the edge of the bed and stares at nothing. 

Here’s the thing: Dean has sucked plenty of dick behind seedy bars. He has his fair share of experience trying to gauge whether the guy he’s picking up is gay or if he’s going to get his ass kicked. 

But that’s-that doesn’t mean anything. Sometimes he just needed something different, on those long solo road trips. It’s not-guys like him don’t have happy endings. With girls, even. He thinks he’s going to ride into the sunset holding a dude’s hand? 

Dean gets up and closes the door against the cold wind. He doesn’t look outside for Cas. He doesn’t lock it. He turns off the light and tries not to think about the way Cas’s face looked right before he left. Like he was disappointed. 

It is exhausting, the way Cas thinks he could be anything other than himself.

Dean closes his eyes and tries to sleep. When the door opens and shuts, he cracks his eyes open. The clock on the side of the bed reads 3:20 AM. Dean closes his eyes again, hoping Cas didn’t see the whites of his eyes. He falls into a fitful sleep.

Dean wakes up at 8:30 and Cas is back in the room, passed out on the other bed. For a brief, horrible moment Dean thinks he’s dead, but then he sighs in his sleep, and Dean swallows down his terror. 

He quietly creeps into the bathroom and showers. There’s no shampoo in the motel bathroom so he washes his hair with his dingy bar of soap and calls it good enough. By the time he’s dressed, Cas is sitting up on the bed, blearily watching the local news. 

Dean watches him for a minute.

“You sleeping again?”

Cas jumps, then shoots Dean a glare.

“Sometimes it’s nice to not have to think for a few hours.”

Ouch. Fine. Dean sits on the edge of his bed and stares at the TV. A guy with a bad combover is saying it’s going to rain.

“Better head out soon. Want to shower?” Dean asks.

Cas makes a noncommittal noise and starts towards the bathroom.

“Hey, I-” Dean starts, then cuts himself off. “Do you want to work a case before we go home?”

“Home?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I mean, you’re family, right? 

Cas turns, slight. “Family. Am I still?”

Dean stares at him. “Of course, dude. Your name is carved into the table.”

Cas nods and closes the bathroom door.

Dean lies on his back and looks at the popcorn ceiling until Cas emerges from the bathroom, hair wet, dressed in a clean button down and slacks. He picks his way through the room and starts winding his tie around his neck. Dean watches him until Castiel catches him looking and then he looks away, feeling like he was caught doing something he shouldn’t. He slips out of the door onto the concrete balcony.

Cas is still number two on his speed dial. He’s going to have to change it when they get him a new phone. Dean presses one.

“Have any cases near St. Louis, Sammy?”

“I might be able to find something.” It sounds like he’s walking with the phone in the crook of his neck. Dean grins.

“Something easy, to ease Cas back into it.”

“You sound happy.” It sounds like Sam is laughing at him, but Sam’s right. He’s happy enough not to care.

“We just...we might finally get a break.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. He sounds happy, too. “Cas doing alright?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, looking over his shoulder. “Yeah, he’s good,”

“You sure?”

“What? Yeah, I just told you he’s good.”

“Yeah, but you sound weird. Like he’s good but you’re not talking. Or something.”

“You’re thinking too hard with that giant brain.” Dean leans on the railing. “Just be happy for once.”

“Don’t know how. I guess we gotta now.”

Dean doesn’t know how Sam can’t be happy, right now, but maybe he’s taken all of the happiness for the both of them.

“Love you, Sammy. Call me back when you have something.”

He hangs up the phone and wanders back into the room. Cas is engrossed in tying his shoes in a perfect knot. Or, maybe not looking at Dean. With Cas it’s sometimes hard to tell whether it’s an act or he’s truly discovered the wonders of aglets.

He clears his throat after a few moments. “Ready to hit the road?”

They drive aimlessly west for an hour before Sam calls back with a tip about some vampires up north.

“Bowman, North Dakota. A little out of your way. You sure you don’t want me to drive up and take care of it?”

“Nah, I think we’re good. Right, Cas?”

“Yes.”

“Glad to hear from you, Cas,” Sam says. “Dean just kept telling me you were ‘fine’ or ‘good.’ It’ll be good to see you.”

“I am good,” Cas says, nose wrinkling. But then his voice softens. “It will be good to see you too, Sam.”

Dean has to end the call before he starts choking up.

It’s cold out and neither of them have clean clothes. Dean pulls into a Walmart and herds Cas towards the sweaters and coats.

“It’s gonna be colder up north. Pick out a few warm outfits.”

Dean gets a warm coat and a few flannels, plus another pair or two of jeans, socks, underwear-the works. Cas can’t take his eyes off a knit sweater with little reindeer on it so Dean buys it for him, plus one with ducks in a different color. 

They drive a little further that day and settle down in a motel a little south of Omaha. Dean picks the bed closest to the windows, draws them tight, and settles in facing them. His knife is under his pillow. He’s between Cas and the door. It’s fine. He’s exhausted and the stress of losing Cas is finally starting to leave his tense shoulders. He drifts easily off to sleep.

Dean wakes up to screaming.

His knife is in his hand before he even realizes where he is. He whips around, but he doesn’t see anything but the streetlights bleeding in through the thin curtains.

He finally glances towards Cas, who’s writhing in his bed. Dean breathes. He puts the knife on the nightstand and then grabs Cas’s shoulder.

“Cas. Buddy. Wake up.”

Cas jerks awake as soon as Dean touches him. Dean keeps his hand on Cas’s shoulder for a moment too long and Cas grabs it.

Dean sits on the edge of his bed, twisting awkwardly when Cas won’t let go of his hand.

“Easy,” he says, and pries his hand out of Cas’s. He flicks on the lamp. “You okay?”

Cas presses his palms into his eyes, then looks up at Dean. The red around his eyes somehow makes them look even bluer. Dean swallows.

“I’m fine.”

Dean nods, and asks anyway.

“Is it the Empty?”

Cas shudders. “Does it matter?”

“Sammy says it helps to talk about it.”

Cas stares at him blankly for long enough that Dean laughs. “I agree.” He runs his hand over the 70s pattern comforter on Cas’s bed. “But, you know. If you want.”

“Why are you acting like you care about me?” Cas is hoarse. It hits Dean in the chest. He jerks back.

“What, driving eight hours to get you means I hate you?”

“Just coming to pick up your liability.”

“Cas,” Dean says. “You really think I’m that much of a piece of shit?”

He blinks at Dean. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

“Forget it,” Cas says, and closes his eyes. 

“Cas,” Dean says, annoyed, but his eyes are closed. “Goodnight, I guess,” he says, and turns out the light.

  
  


They drive five or six hours a day, and Dean would feel worse about dragging his feet if Castiel wasn’t obviously struggling with being alive again. He makes them stop and eat, plays loud music, pulls over to show Cas pretty views-whatever he can think of to cheer Cas up. He doesn’t even seem unhappy as much as-distant.

And the nightmares don’t let up. Dean stops grabbing for his knife after the second night. He thinks about letting Cas be, but it hurts to listen to Cas cry and scream. Even if he could sleep through it. He’s heard it enough when it’s real that he can’t bear to let him suffer alone in his memories. 

The beds at this motel are close enough that he barely has to stand up to sit on the edge of Cas’s bed. Dean puts a hand on Cas’s shoulder and he wakes up, rubbing tears out of his eyes.

“They’ll go away in a little bit,” Dean says. “The first few weeks are always the worst.”

Castiel nods, lips pursed. Dean wants to-he doesn’t know, smooth back his hair. Like when Sam was little and had a bad dream. But this was Cas. It would be weird. He keeps his hand on his shoulder.

“Why don’t you give up on sleeping and do whatever angels do for a few more hours?”

“I can’t,” Cas says, quiet.

“Can’t be worse than the nightmares,” Dean says. “Trust me.”

“I’m not an angel anymore,” Cas snaps.

Dean turns completely to look at him.

“What?”

“I gave up my grace on the way out of the Empty. It wasn’t even mine.”

“Did Jack ask you to do that?” Dean is angry, suddenly, at all the deals they’ve had to make, the pieces of themselves they’ve had to give over and over just to keep each other whole. He thought Jack was better than that.

But Cas shakes his head.

“He wanted me to come back and be an angel. But I have worked and died and fought too many times. Even if you didn’t want me. I was done.”

Dean shakes Cas, just a little. Cas looks up at him.

“Didn’t want you? Cas, you’re family. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Will you mean that when I can’t hunt? When I’m old and this vessel falls apart?”

“We’ll figure something out,” Dean says, firm. “None of this bullshit again, okay? How many times have I put my ass on the line for you?”

“137 times.”

Dean laughs, a little hysterical. “Jesus. See?”

He is gripping Cas’s shoulder too tight. He lets go, but then he takes his wrist, feels the blood pumping in it.

“But-you’re giving up Heaven? A good Heaven, with Jack? You would be happy there.”

Cas looks at him and it pins him to the wall. 

“I told you, Dean. You’re what makes me happy.”

The final stretch to Bowman is quiet. Dean grips the steering wheel tight and Cas looks out the window, staring at windmills and corn and not much else. Dean supposes he was in denial, because for all the times Cas ate and slept and did everything else with him and Sam when he was an angel, the second time, he didn’t  _ have  _ to. This Cas ate cheeseburgers like he needed them to live, not like they were some quaint human tourist attraction. Dean throws him a glance out of the corner of his eye.

“So.”

“Mmm?” Cas says, and Dean realizes he’d dosed off against the window. He feels a pang of guilt for waking him.

“You doing okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“I guess, like, with being human. Coming back.”

Cas crinkles his nose. “You’ve seen all of that. I’m. Fine, Considering.” He glances over at Dean. “You’re here.”

Dean scratches the back of his neck. “You keep saying that.”

“It’s true,” Castiel says. “All of it. Everything I’ve said has been true.”

Suddenly they’re talking about something else entirely.

“You told me you liked cinnamon toothpaste and that was a lie-”

“Dean.”

Dean stares straight ahead, watching the road come to a point in the distance.

“When will we talk about it?”

“Never!” Dean surprises himself by hitting the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. He takes a deep breath. Castiel watches him, wary, unimpressed.

“Sorry. I. I thought we already did, man.”

Castiel chews on his lip, something so human it catches Dean off guard. 

“You’re okay with it?”

“Yeah, man. I mean, we’re still friends, right?”

“Yes,” Cas says, glancing at Dean almost shyly. “If you’re comfortable.”

“It’s you, Cas. We’ll be fine.”

“I never thought it would be an issue,” Cas muttered, looking back out the window. “I never intended to see you again.”

“None of that shit either, you understand? There’s no way Sammy and I would have left you there. Or Jack.” He glances at Cas, who’s resolutely looking at the farmland outside. “We would’ve gotten you back.”

“I didn’t want you to.”

“Do you mean that?”

Cas sighs. “I don’t know.” They drive the rest of the way to Bowman in silence.

The vampires are holed up in an abandoned Family Dollar on the outskirts of town. Dean hopes it’ll be a quick clean up. Kids keep finding deer hunters drained and strung up in the woods. Sick, but that’s why they’re here. They never get called in to catch stray puppies, or whatever.

Dean parks the car a mile or so away and presses a knife into Cas’s hand. 

“No heroics, okay? You’re not used to being human again,” he says. What he means is “human” but also “alive.” Cas’s brow furrows and Dean’s pretty sure he caught the double meaning. But he nods and takes the machete. 

There’s not a lot of them, only five or so, which makes sense-hard to keep yourself alive if you’re draining humans in the size of a town like Bowman. But they’re fast. Dean gets the first one by surprise, a burly guy who looks like he probably could have been a lumberjack in better days. He’s easy, just a quick off-with-his head. The woman that comes at him next knows he’s there, which sucks, because he’s got to actually get in a good blow to kill her. He can hear Cas fighting with someone behind him, and he tries not to look. Cas is hundreds of thousands of years old, so what if he’s clumsy or adjusting. He’ll be fine.

Dean ducks her knife swing and gets her in the side, which is enough to slow her down. She wobbles, off balance, and Dean rams into her side, knocking her against a wall. Dean catches her against the wall and with a hefty swipe of the machete he takes off her head. 

He turns, a little too slow, and a third guy tackles him, knife out and slashing at any part of Dean he can reach. Dean lands hard on the woman’s corpse and squirms away, kicking to try to get out from under this guy. He can hear Cas panting, so at least he’s still alive. 

The vamp goes to bite his neck and Dean throws up an elbow to block him, blood hot with adrenaline. He chokes and moves to hold Dean by the neck. Dean squirms but this guy’s grip is  _ tight _ and it’s all he can do to avoid his teeth.

Dean panics. He tries to headbutt the vampire but he slams Dean’s head back into the concrete. It  _ hurts.  _ His vision goes black for a second and he knees the bastard wherever he can, scrabbles for the knife, but it’s just out of reach.

It’s a weird feeling, knowing what it’s like to die. Dean has died plenty of times and it never gets easier, the moment where you tip over from trying to catch your breath to giving up, going fuzzy. Going to sleep.

He lies back. He’s close, now, his vision closing in at the edges. Maybe it would be alright to go, now. Cas is home. Sam and Eileen are together. Jack is safe, doing whatever he’s doing. Maybe it’s okay. He lies back, just a little. He lets it happen. 

And then Cas stabs the vampire in the neck. He spasms and rolls off of Dean. Dean gasps for breath, vision going white before starting to return to normal. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Cas stepping on the vampire’s stomach and sawing off his head with the machete. Dean starts to get to his feet, choking, and gets sprayed with arterial blood, head to toe. Cas is even bloodier, his face covered. 

“Are you alright?” Cas pulls him up, rough, and Dean stumbles all the way to his feet.

“Yeah,” he says. “That-that was awesome.”

Cas keeps his hold on Dean’s shirt. “You’re alright,” he says, and kisses him.

It takes Dean’s brain a minute to catch up. 

It feels-good. Cas’s hands are fisted in his shirt and he’s using them to pull Dean closer, and Dean goes. 

He almost died. He could’ve died, in this stupid Family Dollar in the middle of nowhere, and Cas  _ did  _ die, and Cas loves him, and he’s kissing Dean, and it feels good. 

Dean kisses back.

Cas makes a shocked noise in the back of his throat. Dean puts his hand on the back of Cas’s head, cradling it, and changes the angle.  _ Fuck.  _ Cas tastes like blood and it’s disgusting, they’re both disgusting, but it takes all of Dean’s willpower to pull away.

Cas’s eyes are blown wide. He follows Dean’s lips with his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says.

“We, uh,” Dean says. His voice is low even to his own ears. “We should go back to the motel and clean up.”

Dean makes Cas take off his trenchcoat and strips out of his coat before they get in the Impala.

They’re quiet the whole ride back. Dean holds the steering wheel in a death grip.

Dean takes their coats out of the backseat and tosses them on a chair in the motel. Then, he turns to Cas, awkward.

“You’re, uh. Covered in blood. If you want to shower first.”

Cas is staring at him.

“Okay,” he says, finally, and disappears into the bathroom.

Dean sits down, hard. Cas kissed him. Cas might kiss him again. Dean couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

Cas emerges from the bathroom half dressed, hair wet, and Dean’s mouth goes dry.

“You mind if I,” he says, and points at the bathroom.

Cas nods, and Dean walks by him, trying not to think about the way their shoulders brush.

“Ah, fuck.” 

Dean peels away his jeans from his calf, where there’s a long slice, sluggishly bleeding. Nothing life threatening, but he’ll need a few stitches. He sighs and hops in the shower just long enough to get the sweat and blood off of him, then throws on a t-shirt and clean jeans. He rolls up the hem, wincing as it goes over his hurt leg.

When he walks out of the bathroom, Castiel is watching the news and pointedly not looking at Dean. That’s fine. Dean can handle that. It’ll be a little awkward for a day or two, and then they’ll be fine, like always. 

“Be right back,” Dean says, and moves for the door. The first aid kit is in his car.

Cas turns and looks at him and the moment when he sees Dean’s leg he looks so upset Dean wishes he would go back to ignoring him.

Dean shrugs. “Must have gotten me in the leg on the way down. Down a pair of jeans. Not a huge loss.”

Cas purses his lips and stands up, silently following Dean outside. When Dean pops the trunk Cas takes the first aid kit out and gestures for Dean to follow him.

Dean is quiet until Cas pushes him down into a chair and starts rummaging in the kit.

“Cas, it’s fine. It’s just a scratch, I can take care of it.”

“No,” Cas snaps. He looks close to tears. “Let me do this for you. I used to be able to do this for you.”

Dean swallows. “You know that’s not why we kept you around?”

“I think you need stitches,” he says, looking up at Dean to confirm. Ignoring what he just said. Fine. Not like Dean didn’t do that too.

“Yeah,” Dean says, and sighs. “First, disinfect it. There’s some rubbing alcohol in the kit.”

Cas grabs the rubbing alcohol and pours it on a stray napkin, then dabs at the wound. Dean winces. 

“Lighter touch, bud.”

Cas looks even more upset, but lightens his hand. Most of the dried blood washed away in the shower, and now hopefully it wouldn’t get infected. 

“Okay,” Dean says. “There’s a curved needle in the kit. And thread.” He digs around in his pocket for a lighter and holds it out to Cas, who stares at it.

“Run the needle through the flame. It’ll disinfect it.” Cas holds up the needle, frowning. Dean tries for a grin. “I don’t have my tetanus shot.”

“Dean.”

“It’s fine, Cas. Gotta be done.”

He sighs and flicks the lighter on, running the needle through the flame.

“The thread?”

“Wipe some rubbing alcohol on it.”

Cas cleans the thread and threads the needle, brow set.

“Okay. Now you just have to stitch me up.”

“It’ll hurt.”

“I’ll live,” Dean says, and braces himself.

Cas kneels beside him and bows his head, focusing hard on Dean’s leg. Dean takes deep breaths as Cas works, looking at the way the overhead lights shine on Cas’s hair. He has that same absurd urge to comfort him, to stroke his hair, even as he winces against the sting. His leg is already sore and every stitch hurts. 

Cas pulls the stitches tight and Dean bites the inside of his cheek. 

“Okay,” he says, after a minute. “Tie it off.”

Cas fumbles with the thread and manages a knot. He snips the end of the thread with scissors and then sits back. He stares at the stitched wound.

“It’s ugly,” he whispers. “It’ll scar.”

“I have plenty of scars,” Dean says. “Just one more. Didn’t know you thought they were so ugly.” 

“This isn’t a joke, Dean!”

“Okay,” he says, and puts his hands up. “Talk to me.”

“I hate it. I hate being a human,” Cas says.

“Jack would still let you be an angel.”

“But-” Cas broke off, frustrated. “My wings were broken. I had someone else’s grace-I  _ took  _ it.”

“Don’t you miss being,” Dean says, and gestures towards the ceiling. “Something else?”

“Yes.” Sometimes when Dean looked at Cas he felt like he could see the celestial light behind his eyes. Now they’re just blue. 

“Jack could make you new grace, maybe. Make you a seraphim again.”

“I know,” Cas says, soft. “But then there would be a job. A boss. I’d have to leave.” He looks at Dean. “I’m sick of leaving.”

“You’ll die.”

“I don’t care about that,” Cas snaps. “How many times have we both died? If I die of old age it would be a blessing. I care about-I can’t help you. Or Sam. I’m stuck in this body and-”

“Look, we were fine before your angel powers and we’ll be fine after them. I can take care of myself.”

Cas makes a frustrated noise. “You shouldn’t have to.”

Dean smiles, wry. “Life ain’t fair, Cas.” He looks down at his leg. “Thank you.”

Cas nods, still frustrated, but his brow unfurrows, just a little.

“Tell me,” Dean starts, hesitant. “Tell me what you were like.”

Cas stares at him, and Dean wonders if he’s offended. But then he looks at the ceiling.

“I had wings,” he says, wistful. “You only ever saw the suggestion of them, filtered through your human eyes and human mind. They were giant. I’m-I was a thousand feet tall. When I spoke, it was in a thousand languages at once. I never had a set form, like this. I was light.”

“I wish I could have seen you,” Dean says.

“You did,” Castiel says. “When I saved you from hell. You saw me then. You remember, somewhere deep down.” He reaches two fingers out to Dean, touches the spot on his arm that they both know has Castiel’s handprint branded there. “But I wish I could show you.”

Dean swallows. There’s not much he can say to that. 

“Maybe you’ll see it again. And I’ll see you. In Heaven, if we ever get there.”

Cas smiles, slight. “Jack’s up there, now. I think we might.”

They order in pizza and have a quiet night. Cas’s gaze flicks to Dean’s leg every so often, but it doesn’t hurt that much now that it’s stitched up. He quietly takes some ibuprofen and watches Cas play _ Jeopardy! _ along with the contestants. He gets the questions about geography and history but flunks the sports category. Dean yells out the quarterback of the Ravens from his bed, where Cas made him lie down and elevate his foot.

“Why do they make them answer in a question?”

Dean shrugs and swallows his bite of pizza. “Gotta have a gimmick.”

Cas nods thoughtfully and turns back to the TV to study it. Dean is suddenly so, so happy. He never thought he would have this again.

“Cas,” he says. Cas turns and looks at him. Dean swallows, licks his lips. “I think the answer to this one is France.”

The answer is Spain. Dean crows that he should get half points for being close, and tries to ignore the way he feels when Cas smiles.

That night is peaceful. Dean is so exhausted he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, and he doesn’t wake up to Cas screaming so he assumes he must be too tired for nightmares, too.

When Dean wakes up Cas is already awake, eating a slice of cold pizza. Dean stretches. It’s comfortable, being with Cas like this, waking up to him puttering around. Dean doesn’t think about it too much.

“You ready to head home?”

“I’m running out of clothes,” Cas says, wrinkling his nose. “So, yes.”

Dean laughs. “Sam’ll be excited. He won’t completely believe you’re okay until he sees you.”

Cas smiles. “I’ll be happy to see him too. Is Eileen there as well?” 

“Sam’s playing coy but I think so. He barely let her out of his sight the first few weeks after everything.”

Cas looks a little shocked.

“How long was I gone?”

“Two months, three days,” Dean says, automatic. “I looked everywhere for a way to get to you. I prayed.”

“You prayed?” Cas says, quiet. He looks at his feet. “I didn’t hear you.”

It hurts, though it was what Dean expected, even back in the early days when he had to dig his fingernails into his side when he prayed so he wouldn’t sob.

“I’m just glad you’re back now.”

Cas closes his eyes. “I suppose I am too.” 

The snow starts coming down near the South Dakota border. 

Dean flicks on the radio and tunes it until they get local news. The weatherman drones on about a few feet of snow coming in overnight, and Dean swears.

They pull into the nearest motel. The parking lot is already full of long-haul trucks. Cas shivers as they make the short walk from the car to the motel lobby.

The woman at the front desk gives Cas a sympathetic glance as they enter, covered in snow. She looks less happy about Dean tracking in snow.

“We’ve got one room left. Queen bed. Everybody else hunkered down when it started up an hour ago.”

Dean sighs. 

“You’re sure you don’t have anything else? A cot?”

She shakes her head. “Every trucker with an ounce of sense stopped here before the snow got bad. You’re lucky I have this room left.” She leans on the counter. “It’s thirty miles or so til the next motel. I’d take it if I were you.”

Dean throws a glance back at Cas, shivering miserably by the window. He sighs.

“Yeah, we’ll take it.”

She smiles. “You might be able to get out of here by tomorrow, but I doubt it. I’d plan on hunkering down for a day or two til the storm stops and the plows get through.”

Dean grimaces. “I’ll pay for tonight and let you know about tomorrow.”

She winks at him and takes the cash he hands over. 

“Got us a room,” Dean says to Cas, dangling the key. 

Snow blows in the room as they enter, but it’s warm enough inside. Cas is still shivering. They both stop and look at the single bed.

“I’ll take the floor,” Dean says, casual. 

“It’s cold,” Cas says. He looks horrified. 

Dean stifles a laugh. “I’m more used to it, buddy. Get me some blankets, and I’ll be just fine.”

Cas looks at him, then at the bed. 

“We can share.” He purses his lips. “It would be helpful if I didn’t have to sleep,” he says, dark.

“Hey,” Dean says. “None of that.” He looks at the bed and sighs. If he presses the issue Cas’ll just fixate on it. “Fine, but if you hog the blankets I’m making you sleep in the Impala.”

When they get in bed, Dean hugs the left side, trying not to touch Cas at all. Cas rolls himself up in the comforter, leaving just enough for Dean.

“When will I stop being cold all the time?”

Dean rolls over to look at him. He’s still shivering.

“Were you,” Dean starts, gesturing above his head. “Firey? Like the Bible?”

Cas wrinkles his nose. 

“Parts of me. Sometimes.” He thinks. “It was more of a cleansing light, not a hot one.” He scowls. “But it certainly was warmer than this. Hands...feet...are you always cold?”

“No, but Sammy is. Too tall for the blood to get all the way around.” Cas looks horrified and Dean sighs. “You know that’s a joke.”

“I know, but even the implication.” 

“Here,” Dean says, and takes Cas’s hands, pointedly not thinking about it. He holds them up to his mouth and blows warm air on them, then massages them to get the blood flowing. Cas looks straight at him. He’s still not used to the direct eye contact after the last few months without it. “Used to do this for Sammy when he was little.” 

“Thank you,” Cas says, and takes his hands back, still staring at Dean. 

“Anyway,” Dean says, clearing his throat. “I think you’ll get used to it. Might just take a while. You got enough blankets?”

“Yes, Dean.”

Dean rolls over, trying not to touch Cas, Cas’s gaze still burning a hole in the back of his head.

“Goodnight.”

Dean wakes again to screaming, and this time he does draw the knife because it’s almost on top of him. It’s luck and good reflexes that he doesn’t hit Cas, thrashing next to and slightly on top of him.

He tucks the knife under the mattress and moves to bear hug Cas so he doesn’t throw himself off the bed. It’s still dark, and he’s still not thinking about the fact that he and Cas are in the same bed. Or even what he’s doing now. 

Cas fights him until Dean manages to flip him over enough to look and see who’s holding him.

“Dean,” Cas breathes, putting a clammy hand on his arm.

“The one and only,” Dean says, and Cas sinks onto him, his head resting on Dean’s shoulder. He’s shaking all over, and Dean’s chest feels tight. He wants to hold him. Kiss his head. Tell him it will be alright. But it feels like there’s a vice around Dean’s throat, like his arms are leaden. 

“It’s the Empty,” Cas says, breaking into Dean’s thoughts. “It’s always the Empty, and sometimes you’re there, or Jack is there, and no one will help me save you. We’re all there together and I can’t get you out, or no one will make a deal-”

“Cas, Cas,” Dean says, and after a long moment, tightens his arms around him. This is fine. He’s helping a friend. “You’re safe. It’s over.”

“It’s not me,” he says. “You die, and I can’t save you-”

“I’m safe too,” Dean says, and before he can think any more about it he shifts so Cas’s ear is on his chest. “Listen. My heart is still going.”

“It’s loud,” Cas says. He sighs, the tension seeping out of his body. 

Dean yawns and flicks off the light. He’s going to-he’ll panic about this in the morning. 

“I love you,” Cas whispers. Dean pretends not to hear.

He wakes up early to white light filtering through the blinds. Cas is sleeping half on top of him, legs over Dean’s. He slowly disentangles himself and pulls on his coat and boots. After a moment, he pulls the curtains closed. 

Cas rubs his face into the pillow and Dean freezes, but Cas stays asleep. Dean watches him another moment and then picks up his phone and quietly walks outside into the snowy parking lot.

His boots crunch in the snow and for a split second he remembers being little, before his mom died, when snow was something more than a nuisance. It’s early enough that the parking lot still looks pristine. He’s the only motherfucker who’s been out here to mess it up.

Dean sighs and calls Sam.

“Dean! You and Cas doing alright? Heard there was a blizzard.”

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Dean says. He scuffs the toe of his boot in the snow, the question he wants to ask crawling up his throat like acid.

“Any reason you called?” It sounds like Sam is folding laundry. Dean swallows. Takes a breath in and out.

“Sammy. What if I was gay?”

Dean hears fabric shuffling and then Sam’s voice is much closer.

“What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing happened, just-just go with me on this one.”

“I would still love you the same.”

Something in Dean uncoils at that.

“What, you and Eileen-” Sam choked- “and me and some guy playing happy families? You’d be okay with that?”

“Yeah. Dean, I would. You’re my brother, and I love you.”

“But-you’re all,” Dean says, gesturing wildly, throat tight. “You’re all Stanford.” Sam makes a noise. “Hunters-what would hunters think?”

“Just ask them how many times they’ve been to Hell and tell them to fuck off,” Sam says, deadpan. “Is that what you’re scared of?”

“This is hypothetical,” he snaps. He ignores Sam muffling a laugh. He swallows so he doesn’t start tearing up. “I’m serious,” he says, and Sam is quiet. “It would be okay, for you, you’ve always had the long hair, and the California school, but I-I like cars. And women.”

“Dean. You can like cars and be gay. You can like women and men, it’s called being bisexual-”

“You promise you’d be okay with it?” His voice is tiny. He can’t help it.

“Yes, Dean. I love you and will love whoever you date.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

“Okay.” Dean breathes, in and out, and clears his throat. Sam stays on the other end of the line. Dean closes his eyes and holds the phone close.

“Anything else you need to talk about?” Sam says, careful.

“Not. Not now.”

“Okay,” Sam says. Then, after a minute, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Sammy.”

He hangs up the phone feeling like he’s run a marathon. The snow is still coming, but not as hard. Dean lifts his face up to it and lets the tiny snowflakes dissolve on his skin until his cheeks are freezing and his hands are stiff. Then he turns around and goes back inside.

Cas is sitting up on the bed, peering at him from under a cocoon of blankets.

“I thought you left,” he says, accusatorily.

“No,” Dean says. “Just calling Sam.”

He sits on the edge of the bed.

“I’m not good at this kind of shit,” Dean says.

“What… ‘shit,’” Cas says, careful.

“Feelings.”

Cas tilts his head.

“Feelings?”

Dean exhales, harsh. “I lied.”

Cas is furrowing his brow. 

“You told me you-you told me before you died,” Dean says, and rubs his mouth with his hand.

“That I loved you,” Cas says, soft.

“And I’m too much of a coward to tell you-me too.”

Cas looks at him, eyes wide. “What?”

“Don’t make me say it,” Dean mutters, eyes closed. But, fuck. Cas had said it. He’d said it when he knew it would kill him. When he knew there was no chance Dean would be able to give him an answer before he was gone. And maybe that was cowardice, too, but Dean thought it was brave. Dean thought Castiel was brave. And if he let himself think about it, Castiel had been telling Dean he loved him for years and years before he got killed for it.

“I love you,” Dean says, voice low.

Cas’s lips twitch, and he fists his hands.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says. “I know you don’t feel the same way. And that’s okay-I never expected-”

He reaches over, slowly, and takes Cas’s hand. Cas stops talking and looks at him. He pulls him closer, close enough to touch his face. Cas’s eyes are wide, wide. Dean puts his hand on Castiel’s cheek.

“I’m not gonna lie, Cas,” Dean says. “I’m terrified. But. I can’t stop thinking about kissing you. Please, will you let me-”

Cas moves so close that their lips are almost touching. He can feel Cas’s breath on his face.

“Are you sure?” Cas murmurs.

“Fuck,” Dean says, and leans in the rest of the way.

This kiss is better in almost every possible way. They’re not covered in blood, for one. And Dean lets himself enjoy it, lets himself play with the hair at the nape of Cas’s neck. Cas’s arms are around him, holding him tight, holding him like if he doesn’t keep Dean there he’ll get up and say it was all a mistake. Dean breaks away for air. Cas is crying.

“Hey, hey,” Dean says, and wipes his thumb over Cas’s cheek. “What’s up?”

“This,” Cas says, and shakes his head. “This can’t be real.”

He leans into Dean’s hand anyway. 

“I know I’ve been-shitty,” Dean says. “I’m not good with all of this. The, the feelings, or the. Being.” Dean swallows. “Gay.” He leans in so their foreheads touch. “But. None of that shit matters, what matters is that I want you around all the time, and I go nuts when someone hurts you, and I want to kiss you, and do all that corny shit that I hate. With you.” He breaks off, chest tight. “Uh.”

Cas kisses him again, and they lose a few minutes to that. When Dean nips Cas’s lip he makes a strangled noise. 

“You’re sure,” Cas says. “This isn’t a joke, or, or- a dream, or some setup for torture.”

“Yeah, Cas. This is me. It’s gonna-you’re gonna have to be patient with me. I’m gonna need some time to. Get used to this.” 

Cas is still looking at him like he can’t believe this is happening.

Dean shucks off his boots and his coat and lies down in the bed.

Cas is still staring at him.

“Come ‘ere,” Dean says, and Cas slowly moves towards him, resting his head on Dean’s chest, just like he had last night. Dean pulls the covers up around them and looks down at Cas’s head.

He wants to kiss his head. He can now. It’s that easy. He can kiss Cas, and no one would see, and Cas would be happy. So he does. He leans down and kisses the top of Cas’s head.

Cas makes a small noise and rubs his cheek into Dean’s t-shirt. It’s cute. Dean’s heart is beating so fast he doesn’t know how Cas hasn’t asked him if something is wrong, but slowly, peacefully, he falls asleep.

The snow keeps coming down until after nightfall. They spend most of the day in bed, except for a few minutes on the road to get pizza from a local place and a few more tromping through the snow to pay for another night. It’s weird, to not fuck a guy and then leave before he knows Dean’s name. This- this is all cuddling, and kissing, and not much else. It’s weird. Dean is still nervous, still terrified about what everyone else will think-but here, in this motel room, where no one can see them, it’s so easy to kiss Cas. To cuddle. He feels every moment that he would have held back and makes himself push through it. It’s exhausting. It’s exhilarating, because Cas is leaning into his touch. Dean hasn’t felt this relaxed in. Fuck, years. 

And Cas doesn’t push it into anything more. Neither does Dean.

Dean  _ wants _ more with Cas, he wants desperately to fuck him senseless-but. He wants to wine and dine him. He wants to hold hands in a mall. He wants to tell Sam. And Dean knows enough about himself to know that this will be the hard work, the believing he can wake up to Cas every day, the believing he can kiss him and hold him. He wants to stop feeling so shaky first. This is something new. He’s never  _ dated _ a man. Never let himself love one. He lets himself hold Castiel’s hand.

The snow clears up the next day, and they get back on the road. It’s ten hours south to Lebanon. Dean takes it slower than he has to, and if Cas notices he doesn’t mention it. It’s nice. It’s like a vacation. It’s almost the same as before except they spend their  _ Jeopardy! _ nights curled up in bed and Dean is right there when Cas wakes up in the middle of the night screaming. It’s hard-every time Dean takes Cas’s hand, every time he holds him, he has to bite back his worst self-loathing. But it’s easy, too. It’s always been easy with Cas.

They stop at a motel in South Dakota and Dean steels himself. 

He makes himself go up to the counter.

“One room, king bed, please.”  
The girl barely even glances up at him and Cas before passing him the key. Dean practically skips to the room and presses Cas up against the door as soon as it’s shut. 

It’s just. Easy, to kiss him. Easy, to make him smile. Despite everything else.

They have to go home eventually. Cas is right, they’re out of clean clothes, and if Dean doesn’t let Sam see Cas soon he’ll come after them himself. 

But it’s still surreal when they pull into the bunker. Cas is here. Sam is inside. They’re all safe. Maybe for good this time.

Dean exhales, deep. Cas looks at him for a long moment.

“We’re here,” Dean says.

“We are.”

Dean gets out of the car, and Cas follows him, watching.

“Are we…” Cas says. He doesn’t seem to know how to finish.

Dean takes a deep breath. He helped kill God, and somehow this is one of the scariest things he’s ever done.

He takes Cas’s hand, squeezes it.

Cas’s face breaks into a smile. His eyes crinkle at the edges, which is how you know it’s a real one.

“Let’s go in, huh?” Dean says. His heart is racing, but it’s good. Cas’s hand is warm and strong in his, and it’s good. 

“We have a few things to tell Sam.”

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you watch a show in high school and the penny only drops that you're bisexual like 6 years later. at least it didn't take me as long as dean winchester.  
> watch me meltdown @capricioustube on twitter!


End file.
